Celestial
by TheLadyMuse
Summary: POA AU Sirius sets things in motion with his escape. Some have been planned for decades, some are rediscovered thoughts long forgotten, and some are thought up on the fly. 2/5 posted
1. Captivus

Although he didn't know it, the day he escaped Azkaban, Sirius Black put into motion a chain of events that would shake the Wizarding World to it's foundations, razing eons of hatred and corruption, only for something far better to be built on the ruins.

On the day in question, while Harry Potter was slaving away under the watchful eye of Petunia Dursley, Ron Weasley ran around with his brothers in Egypt and Hermione Granger was looking around Magical France, men and women of the Black family were frantically being thrown into action.

It had started when Cassiopeia, the current Chief Scribe wandered past the Black Family tapestry, only to scream when she saw that there was an entry glowing. Much like the Weasley family clock, the ancient tapestry showed the status of a family member, but it also listed their health, location and if they were travelling under an assumed name. Useful, that, since the family mercenary company operated out of 12 Grimmauld Place. It also listed Animagus forms and if the family member was using it. People from all over the mansion ran to the tapestry room, gasps followed by curses.

With Sirius' tapestry entry reactivating, it showed his godson for the first time, and the entry infuriated the assembled Blacks. Regulus, as the most senior Black present, began barking orders

"Cassiopeia, prepare the documents to retrieve my brother's people. Hunter, Alphard, Archer, prepare to retrieve him. Caelum, prepare the Touchstone." The others dashed off, except Cassiopeia, who put a hand on Regulus' arm and murmured

"I'll alert the rest of the family, retrieve young Harry and Remus. Take care of Sirius, cousin, and I'll take care of the details." Flashing his favourite cousin a weak smile, Regulus bolted towards the war room. Collecting herself, Cassiopeia pulled a simple compact hand mirror out of her pocket and said clearly

"Orion Black." When he answered, his head formed out of smoke above the bottom mirror, eyes widening when she turned to show him his sons' tapestry entry.

"Understood." He croaked out, cutting the connection before Cassiopeia could say anything. Snapping the mirror closed and stuffing it back into her pocket, she cast an illusion over the tapestry to conceal parts of Harry's entry before she hurried to the office that had come with being the Scribe. Crossing the threshold, she snatched a leather folder from the row at the top of her bookshelf, flicking through the papers before she snapped it shut. Lips pursed, she grabbed parchment and a Dictation Quill, biting out clear, concise terms for an agreement. Letting it dry, she checked her appearance before calling for the driver.

When she was ready, Cassiopeia Black stuffed the agreement into her briefcase, stomping through the house to the garage of Number 11, where, aside from using it as an extension of Number 12, they stored the cars they used. Taurus had already started the luxury towncar, so Cassiopeia brooded as he pulled out.

The Dursleys' (and Harry) were surprised when a well-dressed woman in her thirties stepped out of a sleek black towncar with a funny crest on the doors. Her skirtsuit and black pumps were accented by silver jewellery that sharpened her silver eyes. Black hair had been secured in a neat silver clasp and her left wrist wore a shinier silver ladies' watch, her right hand a dainty signet ring.

She rapped on the door to Number 4 with an elegant hand, greeting Aunt Petunia with a severe frown. Who reeled when the woman spoke in clipped tones

"I am Cassiopeia Blake. I've come to inform your nephew of his alternative lodgings." Blinking, Petunia stepped back, which Cassiopeia took as her cue to step around her, eyes narrowed. Her briefcase banged against the door frame before she said curtly

"Mr. Potter, if I may have some of your time?" He nodded, scrambling when she nodded to the back yard. When the door closed, she reached into her briefcase, opened it enough to pull out a wand, muttering spells before turning and handing it to him. Straightening her shoulders, she extended her hand, she spoke more easily than before

"I am Cassiopeia, and I want to tell you a story before I explain everything." Harry listened, jaw dropping when she explained that his godfather had come to get him, and that things hadn't added up after. The Family had only learned about it after using magic to check his account, and that they hadn't known where he was imprisoned, only that he was innocent. They had resolved, since most of them had disappeared legally, to repair the family that they could and wait until he was of age to seek him out, because they didn't know how to find him or where his godfather was. He had broken out early this morning, and they already had people fetching him and his father and godfather's best friend (who hadn't been allowed to contact him) to make everything make sense.

And then Cassiopeia offered him the chance to get out of here, to meet the distant family he'd not been allowed to meet because many had fallen in with the Dark Arts. Being that he's had to learn to read people early, Harry knew she had only lied about her surname, probably because she didn't want to Aunt Petunia to leave any clues about who she was. Nodding, Harry accepted the offer, snickering when Cassiopeia and her (their) cousin Taurus disdained the entire family without trying.

**CELESTIAL**

Regulus hadn't anticipated finding his brother. After more than a decade chasing leads and perfecting the Animagus transformation among other things, he'd thought they'd have to wait until the Potter brat was of age to convince him to hold an inquiry. Having Apparated with Archer riding behind him on one of the more dependable Aethonans, he had no qualms about diving into the freezing deep when he spotted the massive black dog. Swimming up behind him, Regulus wrapped his arms around his brother and Apparated them straight to the hearth room of Grimmauld Place. Before he could do more then squirm dazedly, Regulus wrapped his sopping wet older brother in a proper hug for the first time in forever. Then he took his wand and cleaned them both up, sweeping Sirius into his arms and carting him over to the Touchstone. Lacing his fingers in his sluggishly protesting brother's, he laid his palm over the Touchstone, chuckling when Sirius' eyes rolled back in his head.

Picking him up once again, he walked through the portrait that concealed the hearth room to all who weren't Blacks, right into the infirmary where his older cousin Apollo had set up shop, lips pursed as he cast spells and barked observations at the Dictation Quill on the bedtable, his apprentices darting to get the Potions he was mentioning.

Running a hand through his long hair, Regulus stepped out of the infirmary and headed to the dining room. It was going to be awkward for a while, but he thought it would be worth it. As he slowly ate his way through a mountain of food, all calibrated to maintain the physique he had achieved through blood, sweat and tears after recovering from retrieving the Horcrux, he studied the people around him. Cassiopeia was speaking gently to the boy who was probably his brother's godson, probably debriefing him on the Touchstone viewing and deposition.

The Touchstone. It had been a bitch and half to repair, but necessary as they didn't have the materials to create a new one and they had needed the Touchstone to be operable immediately. Originally made of a blood ruby from a far distant ancestor, each surviving Black had, once it had been repaired by Grandfather Arcturus, added their own blood to it. If you only wanted a general look at what the family had done, it would show you events that had resonated with the majority of the bloodline. If you wanted something specific, you had to ask it to show you. Made of blood and magic, it was probably Dark, but it had been all they needed to see what had actually happened that long ago night.

They could have used it to free Sirius, probably, but the only way to use the Touchstone was to add your own blood to it. Once Harry had added his blood to it, they'd been able to see the entire Potter line. Which is why they hadn't tried to use it to free Sirius. Very few people would be willing to let their family's history be given to a family like the Blacks, notorious for not only incest and insanity, but Blood Magic the likes of which no one else would ever know.

When Remus walked in, he nodded to Harry and Cassia, but kept his nose buried in the parchments in his hands. Probably the research Estella, his apprentice had compiled on Blood Magic for Weres. Which reminded him, he need to ask Estella and Atlas if they were going with Lupin to Hogwarts or he needed to supervise their Mastery practice himself if the other man was offered position as he suspected would happen. The Lupin addition to the Touchstone had been shocking, to say the least, but at least it had solved a few mysteries. And broadened the spectrum of werewolf research.

Grumbling to himself, Regulus dusted his robes off and wandered away to find his parents. Coming across his own apprentice, Alya, he reminded her that she needed to make sure she had everything ready for her return to Beauxbatons on time because he was busy with certain things this summer. She sighed but nodded, and then he searched out his parents, confirming that Sirius was alright and in Apollo's capable hands. His father sent him to his grandfather to inform him of the news and to debrief his squad before they dispersed to take care of business.

Sighing to himself, Regulus went, glad they could recall the operatives that were still in the field, looking for Azkaban or information on Sirius and Voldemort and his activities.

**CELESTIAL**

Three days after his escape, Sirius woke up to his now-teenaged godson snoring across the foot of his bed, Remus, tired and aged because of his transformations, slumped in a chair at his shoulder. Regulus, his baby brother was on his other side, face down on his abdomen. His parents- gods, his parents- were twined together in the next bed while his grandfather dozed on a daybed across the room.

Gritting his teeth against a groan, Sirius tried to work through the memories that swirled in him. Apparently, his long ago instruction to Kreacher had saved his younger brothers' life and had led to them doubting his incarceration, going so far as to repair the old Touchstone and reaching out to the more distant Black lines, wary of Narcissa and Andromeda when they found out what happened.

The Touchstone had shown him many things he hadn't known about his ancestors and things that he bet the others hadn't realized. But it had also shown him that his family had patiently planned how to do things for every contingency, from getting Moony on board to taking action the moment they realized Harry was in danger.

To prove their sincerity, they were planning to offer him the position of Head of the family, able to restore or kick out those who angered him. Most of the older ones had resigned themselves to being booted and had planned personal backups, but also had ensured their apprentices could finish their education if necessary. The rot had, with the assistance of the Touchstone been scoured, so that this House would stand above the rest once more, because they were the best.

He wouldn't act rashly. Not with Harry's hope of having a real family and the way he liked the other Blacks, who had been reserved but kind, aware not only that he was Sirius' heir, probably, but that they wanted to be better people. Petting Regulus' head, Sirius stared at the ceiling, stretching his magic out and feeling how different the house was. He was in Grimmauld, certainly, but it wasn't like it had been. Lighter, brighter, it's passages twisted still, but were now lit by soft light pouring from sconces shaped to represent constellations. It wasn't the same as Starhall, the country estate where Regulus' memories said that the mounts were stabled, operatives trained and most elders retired. Though the decor was similar, Grimmauld felt more utilitarian, almost militaristic.

_To find me, and Harry and fight Voldemort._

It was a shock, to be sure.

The sleeping potion pulled him back under, but Sirius knew what was happening next.

**CELESTIAL**

About a day after Sirius woke up for good, Remus was thumbing through Estella's research when an owl found him. Curious, Remus accepted the letter after feeding the little messenger, absently thanking the house elf who came to bring him his afternoon tea. As he read through the missive, Harry crept in, having taken to picking Remus' brain for homework help. Once he'd been informed that his father, godfather and uncle had been top-tier students rivaled only by his mother and her best friend, he'd gamely picked up the gauntlet thrown at him. If he got good marks in all useful subjects this coming year, he could choose one of the Masters employed by Blackstrike to teach him all he needed to know for that subject. Which meant, if he passed Potions, he could have Regulus (or, more likely, Regulus through his student Alya) teach him Potions by owl post.

And with Cassiopeia having retrieved Aunt Petunia's signature on the agreement, he'd been permitted to go to Hogsmeade. All it had taken was a simple spell to replicate the signature onto the permission slip. But he still gasped when Remus looked over and asked casually

"How would feel about having me as your Defense teacher? I think I can convince Dumbledore to let me bring my dogs, don't you?" Carefully nodding in the way he'd been taught was the Pureblood style, Harry spent a moment to choose his words before answering

"Yes, Uncle, I should like that very much. Will you register for your Mastery, then?" Smiling indulgently, Remus replied

"I should think the others will put up a stink if I don't."

Later, during dinner as Sirius' ascension was discussed, Remus remarked offhand that he'd received a request to teach at Hogwarts this year and Harry had encouraged him to take it. Once everyone had congratulated him, he was told in no uncertain terms that he was to take an assistant, at least one guard and Sirius in his dog form. Regulus suggested he himself would go, as the guard, just after he'd used some Potions to modify his appearance. Estella and Atlas argued over who should go as Remus' assistant, only to bow their heads when Arcturus reminded them that they could both go, as they would be on the Black family payroll rather than Hogwarts.

Harry liked this. He was aware that the Blacks hadn't always been nice, and that he would probably be asked to take action and save Draco if not his parents, but for now, he enjoyed his days listening to the cultured tones of the many Blacks, playing Quidditch with the operatives at Starhall and eating the food made by the house elves. His favourite part of the day, aside from spending time with his godfather and uncle was when he got to go to Starhall and play with the animals.

The winged horses were cool, sure, but he was fascinated by the gryphons, hippogriffs and Nemean lions. He got to keep ownership of Skyfeather, a young female hippogriff who had taken to following him around. And he liked getting to traipse through the woods around Starhall, since he'd discovered that his Animagus form was a stag.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. So, on the morning of August thirty-first, Harry rose, showered and pulled on his wand holster, as well as the well fitting but non-descript clothes that had replaced his Dursley rags. Into the loops of his pants was slotted a dragonhide belt with discreet pockets (with undetectable extension charms), all holding items that would assure his survival. His knapsack had been replaced with a black valise, also with Undetectable Extension Charms, that held his shrunken, thoroughly cleaned trunk (also charmed to hold everything including his extra materials), a few food parcels, a copy of Nature's Nobility and a money purse. His pocket watch, which also contained his communication mirror, and Repository Journal (both Black Family editions) were placed in his belt-pockets, along with a Self-Inking Quill. Checking the Mundane wristwatch Cassiopeia had insisted he wear so he didn't have to fumble for his pocket watch to check the time, Harry grabbed his valise before clattering down the stairs to breakfast.

Sirius and Regulus had their heads together, murmuring, as Remus sipped at his tea. Cassiopeia was briefing Arcturus and Orion as they ate on Blackstrike's current operations, while Walburga just observed from where she sat knitting. Choosing to seat himself between Arcturus and Sirius, Harry quietly thanked the house elf who brought out his favourite breakfast before listening to Cassiopeia's smooth explanations.

He liked Aunt Cassia. She was blunt, sure, but she cared. The morning after he'd processed the whole Touchstone thing, she'd sat him down to ask if she could check the facts he'd gleaned on Voldemort. Arcturus had been the one to sit him down to explain why he needed to crash a bit of the operatives training, while Orion had checked that he wanted to know what was happening with the Voldemort reconnaissance.

Other than Sirius and Remus, though, Regulus was his favourite Black relative. Aside from being all around decent and deciding that being a Death Eater was a bad idea, he treated everyone as equals and wasn't a jerk about Potions. He'd learned more in ten minutes from the well-spoken man than Snape.

So no, Harry wasn't particularly enthused about leaving, even knowing Remus, Sirius and Regulus would be waiting for him tomorrow. Still, he sat through the warnings and admonitions, chuckling when he was told that Rigel, a cousin, had been posing as an ugly cat for years and he was to rescue him for his first mission. And they warned him that they had time, right now, to get things going, so as much as it burned, they had to wait to secure Peter.

Taking the Knight Bus wasn't as bad as it could have been, although Harry much preferred riding the surliest Aethonan the family had. He greeted everyone who greeted him, remembering that for all he'd absorbed the posh, easygoing mannerisms of the Blacks, he'd been raised Mundane. He quickly got his books, gently informing the Flourish and Blotts shopkeeper that he had a copy of the Monster Book of Monsters, thanks. Potions ingredients were secured, as were the journals Remus had recommended he use for his notes, and the Quidditch equipment Regulus had told him to buy. He was eating at Florean Fortescues', idly considering taking his bags to his room to stow his things into his trunk, when Ron and Hermione rolled up. He greeted them, smirking to himself when they seemed knocked off balance at his new reserve.

When Hermione mentioned she wanted a cat, Harry saw his opening to retrieve Rigel, and ignored the burning in his stomach that demanded he incinerate Wormtail. Swallowing his desires, Harry led the way, wandering over to the ugly cat that was called Crookshanks. Pursing his lips, he told the owner he wanted the cat, and when Hermione protested, he pointed to the kittens one cage over, rolling his eyes at Crookshanks before paying for him. Instead of carrying him, Harry set the cat on the ground, biting back a pleased laugh when the ginger cat snarled at the rat on the counter before twining around Harry's ankles with a purr.

Back at the Cauldron, Harry patiently ignored Hermione's protests as he fed Crookshanks a plate of food that he'd been told was Rigel's favourite meal, feeding it to him in pieces so he wouldn't choke. Glancing at the paper and sighing, Harry excused himself to 'pack', clicking his tongue to call Rigel. Who trotted haughtily behind Harry, transforming the moment they were behind closed doors. Rigel looked like a bulkier, shorter Sirius, and a quick, whispered conversation was all it took to convince him to shower before calling Cassiopeia. Who answered pleasantly and reminded them that they were to go everywhere together, and that if they were careful, they could Apparate home on Hogsmeade weekends.

Having ignored everyone once he closed and locked his door, Harry slept soundly, once he'd packed his trunk appropriately.

The next morning brought chaos to everyone except Harry and Rigel. Dragging his trunk with his valise strapped to his back, Harry wished he could have just left his shrunken trunk in his valise. However, he needed to be inconspicuous, and arriving seemingly without his trunk would ring alarm bells. Keeping Rigel in his lap, Harry kept quiet, observing everything around him. Finally, he was in the carriage with Ron, Hermione and Remus, whose dogs were piled together at his feet. Shrugging off his valise, Harry rummaged through it for Nature's Nobility, settling in to read it again because it gave him a set up to talk bloodlines with Ron at some point. He'd shrugged off Arthur's warnings because he'd witnessed the truth, but Ron and Hermione were twittering and it was annoying.

As he usually did, Malfoy showed up with a sneer, only to stop in his tracks when Harry said absently

"Hello, cousin. It seems we got off to a bad start. Do you think we could get along? It would be so much less stressful, and of course, would mean less wrinkles in the long run." Had he not spent the summer with them, Harry wouldn't know that Remus, Regulus and Sirius were listening and trying not to laugh. It had been an accident, but as a Blck-descended Potter, Harry would work this to his advantage. While the others gaped at him, Harry turned a page, paused, and then mused

"Ron, you and I are cousins also, you know. Draco's mother, Narcissa is the niece of my grandmother, Dorea, and the great grand-niece of your great grandmother, Cedrella. I think Neville's related to us all through his father. It's a shame the family's in tatters." Turning another page, Harry hummed and looked up at the still stunned Malfoy, adding

"Think about it on the way out, won't you?"

Once again ignoring everything in favour of switching Nature's Nobility for his Repository Journal, Harry flicked through the pages, running magic through his fingers to clear the announcements and comments as he read them. There were notes from Remus, Sirius and Regulus, updates from the operatives in Albania, and a dry, witty letter from Aunt Cassia detailing everything he'd missed out on since leaving. Alya, Regulus' apprentice, had scribbled pages of Potions reminders and some casting tips, while Estella had written elegant reminders to polish his wand and eat properly.

When the Dementors patrolled the train, Harry clutched Rigel close, passing out to the sensation of Sirius pressing against his leg.

He woke, accepted the chocolate from Moony, and remained quiet.

The year went by slowly, Harry and Rigel keeping an eye on Wormtail while Sirius and Regulus patrolled the castle. When Malfoy tried to stir trouble over Buckbeak, Remus smoothly offered to have the hippogriff sent to the Starhall conservatory. The Ministry grudgingly accepted this alternative, and Malfoy was disturbed to receive a missive from the Black Family Head, that warned within the next few years, the Duke of Starshire would be formally calling a convocation of blood, where he, his parents and many others would be called on to undergo a ceremony and declare their allegiance, either for or against the Black family and their leader.

**CELESTIAL**

Draco wasn't the only one put on notice that the Black family was marshaling their numbers. Neville Longbottom, the Weasley brood, and a handful of others were told that though they were not expected to declare for the incoming Head, they were expected to sit the ritual. They would also be passing judgement on the other members, it said.

That was the part that got Neville. 'Passing judgement', as well as the pointed addition that the Archives were being scoured for what could help his parents. Apparently, they'd had an Archivist on it the day they'd heard that one of theirs had involved in something so heinous, but had yet to produce results.

So, after a year where Black was at large, Remus was the favoured Defense teacher and Snape spilled the beans on him, Neville went home, nervously aware that the Blacks would be calling on him before long.

Two weeks after he got home, to be exact. He was Apparated out of bed, by Family Magic, into a field where there were many, many people. A weathered, old man, holding a large red stone wearily stood over the bound and gagged forms of Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black. He was alarmed to see his parents and grandmother had been brought to a different part of the field. He didn't have time to ponder, though, as the old man used a knife to nick his wrist, smearing the blood on the blade, before handing it around, the air growing heavy as each person automatically drew their own blood, also smearing it on the blade. When it came back to the old man, he seated himself, sliding the blade into the stone, muttering an incantation.

Neville was brought to his knees as memories flooded his brain. At first, it was days, and then weeks, months, years, decades, finally century after century played out in his head, winding back down through time to a day when a group of people decided to be better. When a Death Eater turned his back on his lord, when a brother was brought home to the place he ran away from, when a young boy was brought out of a painful house to something better.

Although he didn't notice it, those whose sanity was... Questionable were relaxing. Or tensing. Bellatrix was furious, as the cloud on her mind lifted, that she was not where she should be, while Alice and Frank gasped through their minds returning to normal, experienced their sons' growth through his own eyes. Augusta cried as Harry Potter frowned at her grandson and asked why his 'cousin' didn't have a wand that had chosen him. Sirius cast off his bindings, rising to his feet as Harry and Regulus came to his sides and Remus stepped forward protectively.

Raising his wand, Arcturus cast sparks into the sky, resting the Touchstone in the crook of his elbow before he took off the Ducal ring with the Black familt crest on it, striding to his eldest grandson and handing them over. Eyes flashing, Sirius took up the mantle of the Lord of the Black Family, Duke of Starshire and Baron of Starhall, breathing in as the Magic reverberated around him. It was like the world held it's breath, and then...

Lucius Malfoy staggered, eyes wide as he lost his sight and the faded Mark on his arm burned up, leaving a Black family brand in it's place.

Bellatrix screamed as madness descended once again, her Lord's judgement crumbling her identity, her sanity, her will to live like paper.

Walburga and Orion watched warily, gasping when Regulus doubled over, clutching his arm as his Mark burned, and like Lucius, was replaced with Sirius' brand. Narcissa wailed not from the burning on her arm, but watching Lucius collapse from the shock of being blinded.

Andromeda, Nymphadora and several others who had not been formally reinstated into the family, or, like Ted, had never been considered, gasped as their bodies warmed with the Black family Magic welcoming them, adoring them.

Sirius Orion Black, Head of the Black Family had passed judgement.

Lucius Malfoy, who had become a Death Eater at his father's insistence and remained what he had become because he believed that was what would protect Draco and Narcissa lost his sight because he had lost sight of the value of what really mattered.

If he proved changed for the better, he would regain his eyesight.

Regulus and Narcissa were not supposed to give over ownership of themselves to any but their spouse. Lucius had married in, and so, as Sirius' rightful property, each had a Grim on their forearm.

Bellatrix had been sane when she tortured Alice and Frank, and now she would forever be what she had made them.

Those reinstated had needed the knowledge, and more, they needed to keep, in Alice and Franks' case, the sanity bestowed by the Touchstone.

After all, it would be impossible for anyone to use the Touchstone if it did not keep you sane.

**CELESTIAL**

Unfortunately, Peter Pettigrew did make it to Lord Voldemort. But this time, this time... They would be greeted not by a scared boy standing alone, but a family that would tear the world apart for each other.


	2. Ignis

**All it takes to change the world is a fire, so that we may rise from the ashes, better.**

Harry curiously glanced around the library. Situated in Grimmauld Place, it was better than Starhall's only because of the type of libraries each needed. Hermione would have a field day here, he and the others had agreed, but that was what they were here to discuss. Cassiopeia Black, his cousin, and Sirius Black, his godfather, were murmuring together while waiting for the others to arrive. It appeared they were discussing a discrepancy in some of the Blood Magic research.

Boring.

Returning his attention to the mind protection book in front of him, Harry let his thoughts drift so that he could absorb the material and think it over later. Luckily, it was still early, and he was here because he'd had a lesson with Sirius rather than be late for this. Finally, the Weasleys, Draco, and Neville all slid into place just before Aunt Cassia's mouth tensed into a frown. She smiled now, as Sirius slipped out, and told them firmly

"As His Grace's Chief Scribe, I run the family's affairs. I will permit you to have friends over, but only under dire circumstances are they to know about Blackstrike, Starhall or the Blood Magics, and absolutely _no one _may know about the Touchstone. I will, of course, enforce discipline myself, and do not for a moment think that having friends over means you may disregard your studies. Just because the Touchstone gave you knowledge does not mean you do not have to refine it."

When they nodded, Cassiopeia's frown softened and she finished

"Once you've sworn your oaths to His Grace, you may work out who is visiting where." Nodding again, everyone jumped up, except Harry, who lingered, taking in Cassiopeia's relaxed but straight pose before he asked

"Would you teach her?" Cassiopeia didn't need to ask who he meant. She was already training Molly and Ginny, the only She Harry could mean was Hermione Granger. Black lashes fluttered over silver eyes before their owner decided

"Ask her if she wishes to learn from an Ancient Runes Master. Your godfather's cousin offered to find such a thing. Molly and Arthur will know to gain her oath if that's her wish." Harry nodded, murmuring his thanks, and ambled off.

It had been hard to learn, especially for the Weasleys in the two weeks since the Summit, but Harry could see the value in voice modulation. If you always kept your voice pitched low, it was more surprising if you raised it. Just as he saw the value in training as an Animagus and a thousand other things, all of which he was expected to have a grounding in if he wanted to survive Voldemort.

Still, as he found Ron laboriously drafting a letter to Hermione, he decided that there were worse things than tiptoeing around his friend.

**CELESTIAL**

Something was going on. Hermione was certain of it the moment she was Apparated into the Weasley house. She'd been met at the Leaky Cauldron by a relaxed Percy and an older redhead he'd introduced as his oldest brother Bill. Percy had Apparated with her and Bill had taken her trunk, and when they arrived, it was to a cosy, clean house that was _quiet. _The neat, well appointed living room was occupied by Fred, George, Ron, Harry, Ginny and another redheaded man she didn't know, all reading. Or, in Ron's case, using Self-Inking Quills to mark up a map.

From what she could see, Harry was frowning at a book on Defensive barriers, while the strange redhead was explaining something to Ginny. The twins were poring over a battered journal together, whispering secretively. Mrs. Weasley was muttering in the kitchen, a strange creature- a house elf?- patiently assisting her with whatever she was doing.

Through dinner, and introductions (with Charlie and Mr. Weasley) Hermione kept watch. She hadn't bothered to reach for a book because after putting away the map and defense book, Harry and Ron had pestered Percy into walking them through a difficult Transfiguration, laughing uproariously when the Twins interrupted Percy's too-serious explanation with a tickle ambush, before explaining it in simpler terms as Percy recovered.

For three days, Hermione watched her friends study books for hours before they'd tear off to the orchard, returning later, winded but happy. After dinner on the third night, Harry asked to speak with her. He retrieved something from upstairs, pushing a letter across the table to her. Opening it, Hermione found that it was an offer from 'Cassiopeia Blake, Blackstrike Secretariat' to teach her about Magical culture, as she was teaching the others and it was unfair to make her sit out any further lessons.

When she accepted, she had to swear on her magic that she would not reveal what she was about to be shown. Charlie Apparated her this time, into a brightly lit office where a woman with black hair and steely grey eyes looked up from a parchment strewn desk to smile. Not at Hermione, but at the man next to her, the warm regard gaining a small smile from the rugged dragon tamer. With a salute, he turned on his heel and disappeared with a crack.

Cassiopeia got up and extended a hand, introducing herself evenly as 'Cassiopeia Black' before explaining, not unkindly

"I'm willing to teach you, but you must be willing to be taught, Miss Granger, that means politics, why magic is performed as it is, and why we follow certain traditions and disdain Mundane culture and Newbloods." When she nodded, Hermione was shocked that those shrewd eyes studied her, before her new teacher beckoned her with one hand, leading her through a beautiful, hazily lit house to a painting in the entry way. It was as large as a doorway, and was of a simple but precise starscape. Certain planets were recognizable by their colour, but Hermione didn't get more than a cursory glance before she was dragged through the arched frame to a windowless stone room, the walls glowing with a soft yellow but no clear light source. On a mans' waist height spire, a red stone rested in a metal cradle, a small knife nestled on a pillow beneath the cradle.

Gently, Cassiopeia used the knife to nick her palm, before she rested it on the stone.

Although it took awhile to absorb all the memories, Hermione was glad that she did. She understood, now, at least the basics of what Cassiopeia wanted her to know. And it didn't take long to realize why she was being shown this. She wouldn't have understood, otherwise.

Arriving at the World Quidditch Cup was interesting, of course, or it would have been, if Harry wasn't distracted by the people he was seeing or the thrum of magic in the very air. Hermione was a little nonplussed that 'sensing' magic wasn't coming as naturally to her as it did to him and all his cousins, but none of them particularly cared. It was an enthralling thing, to know how magic worked.

Still, it was... eerie, even knowing why, that his blood sang of possibilities when he shook hands with his former captain, when he glanced at the posters of Viktor Krum, having gained the Bloodsingers' Magic only weeks before. In another world, one of his lineage would have- or, more precisely, _could have- _had a very happy future with Oliver, and perhaps, maybe, with Viktor.

Shaking his head, Harry strode forward, a little awed to feel the Weasley's family magic intertwine and sing with his, the distant blood connection joining them in a way most other wizards could never hope to match. Once seated, as one, they spread out their magical senses, the feeling of soaring running through them all, the euphoria dancing through them all. The feeling of someone disguised in the empty chair next to Winky had them all tensing, the feeling of new but not quite... compatible came from Hermione. She would learn, in time, but for now...

The Veela and Leprechauns were not as astonishing as they would have been if it weren't for the way they could sense magic. Interesting and different kinds of fiery, yes... but part and parcel of Blood Magic was the attraction of what was familiar. It was why the Blacks had become known for marrying cousins, though the work-arounds that had been developed out of necessity had fallen from favour and given way to madness. Mostly because the Touchstone had cracked and not been needed long enough for that to happen.

Now, though, they- the Blacks- had need of it again, need of the work-rounds.

On the other hand, Harry was kind of distracted. Aside from the absolute wrongness coming off that empty space, Sirius had requested a memory, both to test his observational skills and to show Regulus. Still, the boy played his part of dutiful charge, fighting snickers when the Weasleys', himself and a quiet Hermione bade the Bulgarian minister welcome in the language of his homeland. Fudge had been astounded that the easygoing Harry Potter and the infamously poor Weasley clan showed up in decent clothes and chattered lightly with his counterpart. Even more amazing was Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom showing up _together, _chaperoned by Augusta and guarded by Rigel, only to get absorbed in the cheeky conversation of their yearmates. Draco ended up railing about the unfair treatment Veela-descendants received in England, surprising the Bulgarian Minister until he explained that the Malfoy were formerly of France and cousins to the Delacour family if distantly.

Hermione listened intently, frustrated that she had been denied the finer details of the most basic Blood rituals on the basis of not being a Black. Neville offhandedly remarked about something she didn't catch, but had all the lads laughing. Irately pinching her lips shut, Hermione resolved to ask Cassiopeia what she had to do to get her hands on the details of the Blood rituals, if it made for the Blacks able to innately understand the world around them.

Apparently, aside from Draco's Delacour ancestor (who made it possible for him to understand French), the Blacks shared a common Eastern-European ancestor who had purposely learned languages to pass them on. It was frustrating, to be left out of the loop thusly, which is why she was going to pester Cassiopeia- since bothering His Grace had garnered her more than her fair share of murderous looks.

Aside from the match, there wasn't much to do. Not with the others bouncing between languages, at some point starting to sign to each other as they spoke, as if to emphasize their meaning. And then, as dusk fell, Fred, George and Charlie pulled out instruments (another bloodline skill, it seemed) everyone in the vicinity came to see Ron, Harry, Neville, Draco and Percy, led by Bill, dance around the fire to please Augusta, Rigel and Arthur. The music was good, of course, but intense, the fiddle, drums and flute leading to people from all nationalities to come and watch the troupe of boys stomp their heavy boots on the ground. Hermione was shocked when Rigel and Arthur began to sing, clapping along to the beat as the boys spun and stomped and clapped.

Most surprising was probably Harry, Neville and Draco switching out for Charlie and the Twins, swapping the hand drum for a harp and striking a tune that sounded eerily like something from Tolkien, the syllables taken up by the singers probably an old style of one of the foreign romance languages but Hermione's flight of fancy imagined they could have been Sindarin, and the harsher Latin words it was peppered with Khuzdul.

What _was _it? Beautiful, yes, and the fire only seemed to burn brighter, roar higher as the night went on.

Truthfully, it was just a long forgotten dance to an old ballad, sung and swayed to as an offering for Magic itself. Had Hermione or any other tried so much as to clap along, they'd have discovered their Magic senses gradually sharpening. Only to fade, later, of course, when they did not perform such again. In all truth, it was a little late to perform this dance, as it was for the solstice, but it would quite do as thanks for such a large gathering going mostly unnoticed by Muggles.

Of course, Rigel, as the only actual Black by blood, bone and name, enjoyed the confusion of all the others immensely. He was quite pleased that the young ones and Arthur had adapted to the more obscure rituals, but after the first attempt, it seemed that they were no longer timid about feeling the connection inherent in all spellcasters.

**CELESTIAL**

Despite being grumpy, Hermione was glad to return to Grimmauld Place. For all the comforts of wizard tents, Grimmauld had house elves, proper beds and a _library. _Cassiopeia and her own apprentice were in the library itself, poring over old records as Regulus sifted through some old Potions experiment notes at the other end of the library. Sirius had whisked Harry away for a private duelling lesson after shooing Neville and Draco to Starhall and setting Ron some strategy studies. Who settled into one of the plushly furnished private desks on the back wall, mumbling to himself in the language they'd sung in last night.

Cassiopeia studied her potential apprentice. Oh, there was no denying the girl _could _be one of hers, but the question her was could she set aside preconceived notions and actually learn what Cassiopeia meant to teach? To simplify without lie or omission, to accept everything and change what she ought, not what was not her place? If this girl wished to learn to Scribe from Cassiopeia, she had to learn all that and more. The more complicated Blood Magic rituals, the way Cassiopeia had, as a young girl before her parents had broken from Arcturus and Orion, and never forget that she had to know that Newbloods were rarely as powerful, Magically, as a properly educated Born Wizard.

Oh, all these and more Cassiopeia had learned as an apprentice Scribe, before the Fall.

But now, with one apprentice grown and one ready to move on, was _she _ready to teach? To spend long nights running her fingers through her hair and try to to not spend her days exasperated by her newest unteachable little one. Cursing in a mixture of Welsh and Latin, her current favourite languages, Cassiopeia gestured for the girl to come close, listening to her grumbling before telling her, point blank, all that she had to learn, sending her off with a barked

"And don't you bother Ranald, you hear?" Despite her Old English pronunciation, her message came across. Hermione nodded, and Cassiopeia rose, slinking through the corridors to find Charlie. A good sweaty romp between the sheets would make her forget how her bloodline abilities messed with her tongue and thoughts. Because they did. It was a great blessing, yes, to understand the words and customs of her forebears, but a great burden too, and only another Black could understand what that knowledge did to a person. The children might complain about being taught from books, but it was better this way. Less nightmares for the ones who came after them.

Charlie was where she'd thought he'd be, intently studying the engravings that had been dug out of storage after the Touchstone had been restored. The scrolls that had accompanied them had been destroyed by time, but her former apprentice was in the midst of making several copies from Touchstone memory, and it would be the plainest ones on Dragons Charlie would take back to the Reserve.

"A great piece of history." He turned to nod, replying in a low voice

"One we can both appreciate. It's lucky they weren't lost to time also." Humming, Cassiopeia ran gentle fingers over the engraved metal, breath catching as it always did when she felt the tiny jewel chips that filled the lines. It only took Charlie a few moments more to deduce softly

"You're worried." Blowing out the previously caught breath, Cassiopeia turned to him and admitted

"Yes. Everyone was so absorbed in the festivities, that they didn't realize that a Mark had been put into the sky. Where did the wand come from? Who was that person you all sensed, shielded from you? Does this mean the Tournament is a bad idea? All that and more concern me." Chuckling, Charlie draped an arm around her and muttered

"Hermione." Sighing, Cassiopeia turned and rested her face against his chest, huffing when he continued soberly

"As Scribe, you've seen the damage tallies." She nodded, swallowing before explaining

"Sirius... He had a scroll passed down to him, from Arcturus and Orion, insisting he have someone check on certain things for him. Numbers of things, and supply lists, what had to be supplemented. The first thing he asked for was that I go in reverse order and catalogue all records that could be verified with the Touchstone. The death tallies of the past century alone were horrific." Blinking, Charlie asked uncertainly

"You-?" She nodded and replied

"I lived through each one, as Chief Scribe it is my duty to ensure that all fallen Blacks' names are recorded, and how they fell. Bellatrix was not the only Black to fall to madness, and the Arcturus Fall was not the only Fall we suffered." Shifting, Charlie asked quietly

"Will you tell me of it?" Blinking, she shook her head when she realized what he'd wanted, requesting softly

"Help me forget, if only for a little while, please." He nodded and led her away.

Over at Starhall, there were... gladder tidings. Draco was mumbling to himself as he inspected the horses, and Neville was smiling as he raked sternly careful eyes over the gardens of the manor. Being that these were the gardens and orchard that fed everyone under the Black banner (excepting those who had such a thing in place themselves) his well-learned scrutiny was favoured by his cousins.

Harry, having been brought over for his duelling lesson easily agreed to helping one of the aunts (for, everyone over a certain age, like Rigel, were more uncle or aunt than cousin) set up for the bonfire dances they planned to have at the Starhall the next night, one of the last they would have under that same sky. This year, anyway. Sirius, as the beloved scapegrace lord, had been dragged into something to do with the Blackstrike training. A Voldemort matter? Maybe. He and the others would be briefed when the time was right. The Blacks had proven they would prefer to shock and horrify their children then have them blind and dead.

Molly had been on board with such after Cassiopeia gave her a set of keywords for a Touchstone viewing. It had been... enlightening and had resulted in the Weasley matriarch both tightening and loosening the rein she kept on her children. He didn't know what it was, but obviously the Touchstone never lied, and it was... as cool as it was uncomfortable to gain life experience this way.

Disinterested but aware, was a good way to describe the desired Black demeanor, though it was more an affectation than bloodline limit. Useful, though, in antagonizing people into revealing things. Fudge, for example, had been flustered when they had faux-obliviously carried on conversations in Bulgarian. It had proven his previous opinion that Cornelius Fudge was a blind, ass-kissing nonce and tosspot. Idiotic, egoistic, and narcissistic. Aunt Cassiopeia, in all her severe glory, would have pronounced him 'a bumbling buffoon' before swishing away in that gliding gait of hers.

Which reminded him, he needed to prepare for this next year. Bizarre wizards and witches from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, so they needed to keep them off balance. But how did he do that? He would need to confer with his cousins on this, because there was like to be a reason that they should keep the Hogwarts population in the dark, if his blasted first and second years of education were any indication. Good thing he was going to be a member of Blackstrike and have his education patched up as he went, or he was fairly sure he'd be a dismal wizard.

Fred and George, when they were told about Harry's idea, were quite delighted. Keeping everyone off balance was a time honored Black tradition, and it must be kept, of course. Chuckling, Rigel (who had overheard) dropped a few hints that were excitedly scooped up.

So it was, that relaxed but aware Blacks studied the station, Hermione muttering to herself about the books she'd brought, annoyed that her blood rituals had not given her as many languages as the Blacks. Still, she had withstood Cassiopeia's scrutiny and been granted permission to use a handful of the simpler rituals, and when she was ready, bond to the Touchstone. Sirius himself had pondered the wisdom of doing such, before his brother reminded him of all the growing such a young witch has yet to do.

Arriving to a crowded Great Hall was not amusing, after spending a summer at the luxurious, open Black estates. Still, it was to be born for more than a few years yet, so they didn't grumble.

As the tournament was announced, the young Blacks considered what needed to happen next. They needed to be alert, prepared and capable of acting on whatever plans they make.

**CELESTIAL**

Hermione bit back a scream when Harry's incredulous disbelief pervaded the air. His entire being radiated genuine fear. Ron swallowed as he recognized the more nuanced layers of his best friends' emotions. Disorientation, for certain, but there was more. Pain, and confusion intertwined to taste bitter. Like he didn't _want _this to happen.

What?

The twins twitched, smiles plastered on their faces despite their faltering. Harry's understanding was turning the taste of his emotions to ash.

Harry himself toddled off to bed, uncertain and afraid, having messaged the others.

Draco and Neville had swapped intent looks, which had gone unnoticed in the chaos.

As Champion, Harry invoked certain rights. Such as having people that he actually liked around him. And not attending classes if he was exempt from exams. That particular hurdle was umped by his offer to write the international exam that summer. Still, he ended up telepathically connecting with Sirius several times a day, and touching base with Regulus often, his rage at the accusations levelled against him and the gossip circulating fueling his dislike of society in general and Hogwarts society in particular. What he wouldn't give to return to Grimmauld Place or Starhall! At least there all he had to contend with was the fact that Regulus' still often suspect health distracted Sirius.

Still, Harry honestly was curious, more than anything, about Moody helping him. Why? What importance was it to Moody if he lived or died?

(Sirius had asked him, point blank, if he wanted to leave the moment the Third Task was over, and never return to England, let alone Hogwarts. The others- Weasleys, Longbottoms, Malfoys and Grngers- would of course be offered the chance to do so, but Sirius and Regulus cared about Harry. Harry himself had pondered this before deciding that no one was responsible for the idiocy of others, and he would remain, for now.)

With Moody's intervention, the First Task was astoundingly boring, in practice. Perhaps because he'd used Black blood magic to make himself impervious to fire. And he'd extended that protection to his clothes and broom. Also, he'd anchored it to Charlie Weasley rather than himself, as the older male would not panic at the sight of a rampaging dragon.

Charlie had been amused, and had admitted to thinking about asking Bill to anchor a stronger version of the spell for him. Why _Bill _when he was in almost as much danger and Molly, Arthur, Percy and several others weren't, Harry hadn't the foggiest. Also, not his business.

Ron, who had been disgruntled that Harry had been selected for something that he hadn't desired beyond a fanciful daydream, had cooled the last of his temper in time to examine the metaphorical chessboard, and blushed when he was praised for it.

Other than nudging for certain people to take certain others to the Yule Ball, Harry had no real preparations, having sealed the Blood Rite with Ginny just that past summer. It was somewhat enjoyable, with the scandalized gasps around them as they danced. Aside from the usual partners, Harry, Ron, Neville and Draco had deigned to convince the Twins and a visiting Percy to set up the music for a Yule reel, the four of them dancing several sets together before gesturing for their invited partners.

Beyond the music and food and dancing, it was all kind of dull.

I mean, the blood in his veins hummed with power, and kind of distracted him, but otherwise...

(A New Years' flyby visit from Sirius, Remus and Regulus in the Forbidden Forest would reveal that Harry was experiencing ennui, and it was quickly fixed with a spelled potion)

If the First Task was boring, the Second Task was annoying. Diving into a lake in the thrum of winter? Bumblebore, Dumbledumb, whatever your name is, that's not fucking logical. But I guess logic doesn't matter to the New Magical Order. Honestly, why couldn't it have been a hunt in the castle instead of diving and risking grindylows, the squid and the bloody fucking Merfolk? And why, in the name of all that's holy, did you phrase the damn clue that way?

(Harry was summarily abducted by Cassiopeia on Sirius' order and brought home to get properly drunk and wrung out to release tension. He was old enough, the elders agreed, so it happened and Harry was so damn thankful he didn't even boast to the others about it.

The Third Task (if it could be called that) was horrifying. Harry, being suspicious in general and of the Triwizard committees' motives in particular, had surreptiously cast specific blood wards for the other Champions, anchoring them to their attending parents.

So when he dragged an unconscious Cedric Diggory away from the Portkey, he set his co-Champion down gently and stomped up to Dumbledore, roaring

"You fucking dumb mick! I don't know who did it, but that fucking Cup was a Portkey and took us- me and my co-Champion, the lump over there- to a graveyard where Tom fucking Riddle junior was resurrected and he called his followers. If I hadn't anchored a blood ward to Cedric's parents, he'd have fucking died! I nearly did!" When Cornelius Fudge hurried forward, swelled up like a toad, all he got for his efforts was a cracking slap across the face as Harry stormed away, muttering fiercely under his breath, he called as he walked towards the gate

"I might be back in September, but remember, my godfather will go _postal _when he hears about this." He stopped, raised his fist, and roared once more

"HOUSE OF BLACK, TO ME!" Several students scurried over, joining hands and disappearing with a thunderous boom.

**CELESTIAL**

Fortunately for the Wizarding World (but not Cornelius Fudge) not only could Harry Potter not be found for Dementors to be set on, but he submitted his memory to Amelia Bones, who was infuriated with Fudges' politics and gratefully took advantage of Harry's blanket permission to show his memory and the the instructions for the blood ward he used, with a written sheet of his reasoning for warding his opponents.

'Moody' was investigated, and Bartemius Crouch, Jr., was thoroughly questioned.

Harry, however, was busy with some other blood ward rituals, sniggering when questioned by the somewhat still ignorant Hermione.

Funnily enough, Hermione considered herself quite competent and having mastered Cassiopeia's lessons, demanded greater access to the archives and Touchstone and was outraged when Cassiopeia cackled. Miss Granger was quite frustrated that nothing swayed her Magic Mistress, who really didn't care for a teenager being a brat when she'd forfeited her sexual outlet. Not that it wasn't the right thing to do... It just made her want to sigh, as she couldn't remember being so young.

(Age dims memories, so that might have something to do with it)


End file.
